


something approaching a normal life

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: I love you: when we lay together on the fresh spring grass





	something approaching a normal life

**Author's Note:**

> Original post: https://how-i-met-your-mulder.tumblr.com/post/160134356543/wtfmulder-requested-12-when-we-lay-together-on

When they’d first bought the house, the idea of domesticity had seemed novel to her, after all those years of hotel living and dusty comforters and greasy food and never feeling completely clean. It felt like playing house at first, like it was way too much fun to really be _living_. No one should laugh that much the first time they go to the grocery store, or do the laundry, or make dinner. (“It shouldn’t be this fun,” she remembers saying to Mulder, and he’d kissed her neck and said, “Maybe it’s the excellent company.” And, well, there was that.)

The novelty has almost entirely worn off at this point. She’s gotten a job and dyed her hair back to red and taken the job of “Provider for the Family” (”I love how you’re breaking down those 50′s stereotypes, Scully,” Mulder had joked), so she does the grocery shopping now. It’s less fun without Mulder cracking jokes that should not be as funny as they are every time they enter an aisle. It’s a travesty.

She still smiles at the sight of the hulking gate when she pulls up to it. It’s a pain, but it means home. This house is still their home, it hasn’t been cursed by the ghosts lingering at the edge of their minds. They haven’t been allowed to cross the threshold yet. 

Scully carries her keys in one hand and the rustling group of grocery bags in the other. The creased grocery list is folded on top of the ice cream, covered in conflicting handwriting from where she pins it on the fridge in the space between trips and they write items they need as they run out. (Mulder’s taken to crossing out her items at times, some attempt to trick her that almost never works; she’s the one who does the shopping, after all.) The house is dark, shadowy and gray-lit when she enters. She methodically puts away groceries before looking for Mulder. He’s spent the days in his study ever since they got Internet and cable installed (it had been a good chance to test out the room mostly hidden behind the closet that the realtor had been delighted to tell them about, Mulder had grumpily hid there for hours with a stack of cheap paperbacks and when he’d griped, Scully reminded him that this was for him so he wouldn’t go insane all day). But the crack under the study is dark. She nudges it open with her fingers; empty, a picture rustling quietly against the wall with a slight breeze from the AC.

The effect is dumb but eerie, and enough to make her worry - it takes almost nothing to make them worry, nowadays. “Mulder?” Scully calls, walking the halls of the tiny house quickly. She checks every room methodically, but not every hiding place - Mulder may be an ass sometimes, but not enough of one to literally hide when she’s pacing the house calling his name. He’s not in any of them. Tamping down panic, Scully goes out on the back porch, preparing to shout his name when she sees him, sprawled out asleep on the lawn. 

She smiles and goes across the limp green grass to join him. He’s halfway on top of a towel, and based on the portable telescope they’d bought at a yard sale sitting in the grass beside him, she guesses he was star gazing. She lies beside him, nudging her head under his arm. (The more tired they are, the more affectionate they tend to be.) “Wake up, Agent Mulder.”

“Mmph,” he says without opening his eyes. “Are you the FBI? Are you here to arrest me?”

“Yep. Solitary confinement,” she says, tickling his ribs. “A little off your guard there, Mulder?” 

“It’s late. Stars are beautiful.”

“Mmm.” She lays her head on her shoulder, looking up at the stars. They can see so many of them out here, a blanket of little white dots. If they were younger, he might tease her about UFOS, but they are older and hardened from their abductions. Now there is just the stars. “Love you,” she says. 

Mulder opens one eye, then the second, to look at her. “Love you, too,” he says, almost surprised. He kisses her head, scraggly beard scratching her scalp. “Why do you bring it up?”

“No reason, just… felt like the right time,” she says, moving up on her knees to settle over him. “I love you. I don’t say it enough.” 

“You say it plenty,” he says, tugging her down for a kiss. 


End file.
